Sunset Cruise

An October evening is an excellent time to be floating in a kayak,  watching as the sun sets beyond the water and trees.

The clouds are in position to provide a canvas upon which
the superb oranges, pinks and reds can contrast with the unscattered blue beyond.

The barest of cool breezes is urging me towards shore,
but the rate will not get me there until after dark.

And I don't want to disturb the mirrored surface of the water with my paddle,
since it is far more disruptive to reflections than the ripples from the rising fish.

The seasonably abandoned camps and cottages are disappearing into darkness
even as the tall, sparse pines come to prominence
as dark silhouettes against the orange of the sky.

I zip my fleece and contemplate the warming exercise of the way home,
but the shifting colors bid me, "Stay a few moments more."

More of the subtle progression from color to darkness is reward enough...

...but while swinging my paddle through its arc
and finally turning my gaze away...

...I am pleased to see that the sunlit moon
had appeared in the east
to illuminate my journey home.

 

Even so, it is impossible to resist one last look.

A Beautiful September Day

It was one of those spectacular September days that make one disregard the knowledge that the changing colors are a harbinger of colder days to come.  After the sun chased the rising vapors off the water and partially warmed the crisp morning air, it was time for paddling.

I think this gent found me rude,
since my launch disturbed his peace.

The trees in the swamps always change first.

Lots of reds.  Not many yellows yet.

Rock with bigger rock in the background.

The dragonflies also enjoyed the fine day,
and were out in force.
If you look closely, you can see a light-colored blob of pixels above the heron
that you can pretend is a dragonfly.

The heron flew away, but I caught up with him later.

Others in funny boats were also about.

As I paddled, I noticed a fluttering atop the water.  Closer inspection revealed a large dragonfly, upside-down and desperately trying to get airborne.  How he got into the predicament is beyond me.

I scooped him up on my paddle and deposited him on the bow of my kayak, but the wind was too strong, and he was back in the water again.

Not doing so well.

I scooped him with the paddle a second time, but deposited him into my hand.  Maybe I scared him into leaping into the air.  He soared up into the neighboring treetops.  I wonder if I now have a place in dragonfly mythology.

Heron rediscovery in the not-too-distant shallows.

"You talkin' to me?"

I'm thinking that a heron never has both eyes on anything.

It's not all wild going upstream.
This guy used sound waves to protect his turf when I got too close for his liking.

And he had a wookie for backup.

Then a pair of loons provided entertainment.
This one has quite a bit of white showing on the head.
Old age?

Is that a green foot?

And is that a feather in his beak?

Much less white on this one's head, and the beak appears shorter.
Perhaps younger?
Or maybe it's the male, with less gray or white due to less childrearing responsibility.

The zebra-striped "necklace" is quite pronounced.  I wonder if each loon's necklace, like human fingerprints, are unique.  I will believe so until proven otherwise (see the other loon above).

The loon show was over, I headed back to begin the less exiting portion of the day.  High overhead, an eagle flew by in the "pointless to attempt photography" zone.  But his appearance finished off the adventure nicely.

I'll allow myself the delusion that this glorious weather will last forever.  Until it doesn't.

Visiting Friends at the Camp

After a number of cold and rainy days, one is doubly thankful to be at the Camp in the Adirondacks.  It's always great to be there, and even better when it is a calm and sunny day.

A fabulous day to follow Mary...

...across the calm waters of Lily Lake.

We visited, but the beavers were not home.

In fact, it looked like humans had breached their dam.

This guy posed.
I was surprised at how close he let me come.

"Did you get my profile?"
His feathers look a bit shaggy.

"That's enough.  Good bye!"

It could be that I was able to get close because he didn't hear me.
I wonder if he is old and has heron loss.

Mama and baby were in the big lake.
Loon-like markings are beginning to show on baby's back.

"Let's go that way, Mom."

Mama knows better.

And she looks every bit as lovely as before junior came along.

We paddled back through the weeds.

The occasional puffy clouds were quite welcome.
It got quite hot in the unbroken sun.

I sat and watched this tiny spider weave a web.
Amazing energy and technique.

Stretching one line to properly position the next.

Both engineering and artistry.

On her way to a meal on my arm,
the mosquito became entangled.
I did not shed a tear.

As the day wound down, other kayakers paddled toward the setting sun.

Evan, Randy, and other loons

Evan came to visit us at the camp.  As soon as he arrived, it started raining.  I finished the evening's sausages in the microwave because the grill was drowned.

The next morning we awoke to a dark and gloomy day.  The weather report was less promising than the view over the lake.

"You'd better go paddle now if you're going to do it," said sage Mary.  Smart people take Mary's advice to heart.  We also took her advice.

朝食前 (Chōshoku mae) is what a coworker once told me is the Japanese phrase loosely meaning "very easy."  Literally, it means "before breakfast."  I don't think he was talking about kayaking, but that was our timing.

Evan in the mist.

We paddled through the quiet cloud.  Upon rounding the bend in the channel that opens into Lily Lake, we spied a dark head close to the water.  

Evan on Lily lake.

On days like this, the common saying is "It's great weather for ducks."  I believe it is even better weather for loons.  

Upon closer inspection, it was not one dark head, but two!

Mama and baby.

As we floated downwind, our boats came closer and closer to the loons.  Baby can dive now, so Mom was not terribly concerned.  Or perhaps like the hummingbirds, they've seen me enough to identify me as the innocuous old fool that I am.  Mom saw me, but paid little attention.  The two of them casually swam within a few feet of my boat and on toward deeper water.

"Hey, Mom, look at these two staying on the surface.
Can't they dive?"

Just before we pulled ashore and out of the increasing drizzle, Evan noted Papa in the shallow bay across the channel from neighbor Pete's dock.  Unusual.  I rarely see them in shallow water where they can't disappear into the depths in a flash.  The gloomy conditions must foster confidence in the loons.  

Clearly, it was a great day for loons.  At least Evan and I thought so.